More Than Acceptable
by Sincosma
Summary: When a transporter mishap leaves Spock with two more appendages than he originally had, he is left with an awful headache as Scotty and Chekov are busy figuring out how to rectify the situation. With alien guidance, Jim tries to alleviate the pain. Slash. Spirk.


More Than Acceptable  
><span>_Sincosma_

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><p>An: Once more - I'm a dork. A total and complete dork. And I have this unhealthy obsession with Spock. So, I thought it'd be so extraordinarily adorable if a little transporter mishap left him with more appendages than he had anticipated. Someone smack me. _Seriously_. Oh, and sorry about Chekov's dialogue - it's not my fault that adorable little Russian slaughters the English language. I know the logistics (the transporter accident and whatnot) are a little shaky. I started this story about two years ago, and, well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. My friends and family constantly get on me for nit-picking my own work and constantly changing it. For once, I'm going to leave it alone. Just enjoy the fluff and don't over-think it. (;

Rating: T, mostly just fluff. Fluffy appendages, more specifically. Oh, and slash.

Disclaimer: No! I don't!

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><p>The colorful and airy planet of <em>Ultaris<em> proved to be a particularly interesting and, well, _windy_ trip. Jim found that basically the entire time they were down on the planet, his hair was having violent seizures on top of his head. Spock's hair wasn't going quite as crazy, though, which made him angry. When he demanded to know why it wasn't going nuts, he got a very long and complicated sentence that Jim cut down to a six word sentence:

My hair is cooler than yours.

Regardless of the wind, the inhabitants of the planets were the really intriguing part. They were completely humanoid and incredibly pleasant. No weird customs, no disgusting food, no evil monsters lurking around the corner. Their noses were pointier than most and their eyes were large and incredibly colorful, much like the architecture and terrain of the planet, as wind-swept as it was. They basically looked like the real-life version of those Japanese cartoons Jim used to watch when he was a kid. He also had a hunch they were telepathic, considering they seemed to always have a drink for him the instant _he_ realized he was thirsty.

But they had wings. Huge, pure white, and covered in soft, shiny feathers. Jim was immediately taken in by the wings, just gaping at them in wonder. He didn't know why, but he had always loved the idea of winged people, going back into the days he was studying mythology. And the Ultarians were quite obliging in his interest, having no problems with allowing him to touch their wings and study them. The one that they considered their leader, Maila, even let him have one of her feathers.

He didn't really know whether that was creepy or not, but he accepted it, only to find out later that to Ultarians, it was a peace-offering.

Good thing he accepted it.

The trip, even though it was a boring diplomatic trip, was altogether enjoyable and when they had to depart, the Ultarians seemed reluctant to see them leave as much as Jim was reluctant to leave them. While they had been there, they had met Maila's daughter, Hela, who looked like she was only eight or nine. She immediately fell in love with Spock and wouldn't leave him alone. So when it came time for them to beam back up to the _Enterprise_, Hela started to cry tears of some bright blue liquid, begging them to stay.

It was so pathetic and sad that Jim almost wanted to stay. Even Spock, despite his usual mask of indifference, looked apologetic. The Ultarians were incredibly nice beings and even _Spock_ seemed to like them, which was almost unheard of. He had even let Hela hug him, though he didn't really hug back or anything.

Jim hadn't counted on how much Ultarian children could be like Human children.

When he had told Scotty to beam them back, via communicator, he hadn't even fathomed the idea of Hela flapping wildly towards them at the last minute, colliding with Spock and latching on like a leech mid-beam. When they appeared on the transporter pad, Jim looked back at Spock.

Was Hela clinging to his back?

Spock blinked, looking a little confused, glancing over his shoulder at the wings. Jim kept waiting for Hela to poke her head out from behind his shoulder, but she never did. Even Scotty, who was peering out the window along with Chekov, looked a bit perplexed, probably because it actually looked like…

"Meester Spock has veengs!" Chekov cried from the doorway, pointing at Spock in awe.

Spock, who still looked almost comically confused, flapped the wings. No, _his_ wings. "Fascinating," he said quietly, pulling his shoulder forward to examine the part of his shoulder blade that the wing branched out of.

Jim blinked, suddenly realizing that there was no Hela on his back and that somehow, Spock now had wings. "Spock?" he asked, trying to ascertain whether or not Spock was actually freaked out by this or not.

"Meester Spock has been turned eento angel!" Chekov went on, scurrying from the doorway and hopping on the transporter pad to get a better look at Spock's new appendages. "Zhey are so pretty!"

Jim couldn't take it anymore; the "angel" line killed him. He burst into laughter, doubled over and everything. Spock just looked so outrageously _innocent_ with wings. Actually…he looked sort of, well, _adorable_. The way he was twisted around to look at a pair of white wings that weren't quite proportioned to his body, considering the age in which the wings actually were.

Wait, _adorable_? Had he really just thought that? Jim wanted to slap himself.

"Well, ah've never seen anything like _that_ before!" Scotty said, walking out from behind the window, scratching his head. "Since ah only locked on to _Spock_ and not whoever's wings those be, it looks like we only got the wings an' not the person."

"So…that means that, uh, _Archangel_ Spock here just stole a little girl's wings?" Jim snorted, laughing like a hyena. "That's so mean, Mr. Spock!"

Spock gave him a short glance, then flicked his eyes to Scotty. "We will have to beam back and find a method in which to reunite Hela with her wings."

"Well, see, there's a problem with that idea, as good as it might be," Scotty sighed, scratching his head again. "Whatever happened to give you the little lass's wings also managed to disable the transporter. Ah've got to figure out exactly what happened an'…" He trailed off, going back to the console behind the window, muttering under his breath.

Jim looked back at Spock, who had apparently just put on his "thinking cap" because his eyes were narrowed and he was staring at the floor with a distracted kind of concentration. And his wings were flapping as if connected to his brain. He seemed utterly unaware of this so Jim said, "Hey, Spock?"

Dark eyes darted up to his eyes, but he still seemed far away.

"Um, you're kinda making a whirlwind in here," he pointed out, nodding at Spock's wings.

This seemed to pull Spock completely out of his thoughts and he stopped his wings, glancing back at them as if he were offended by their existence. "It appears the wings are in some way connected with thought processes."

"Captain," Uhura said, voice coming from the console through the doorway. Jim cast Spock one last glance, then walked past Chekov - who was still enraptured - and went to the console next to Scotty's.

He hit a button and said, "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Sir, we're receiving a transmission from the Ultarians. Would you like to receive it where you are?" she asked.

"Yeah, go ahead," he said with a nod, even though she couldn't see him. Within moments, he heard the voice of Maila, who sounded a little distraught.

"Captain?" she said, a little panicked. "Can you hear me?"

"I hear you, Maila," Jim said, taking a seat in front of the console.

"What happened? Hela is bare-backed!" she demanded, saying the last word as if it were something disgusting.

"We had a little mishap with the transporter. Our chief engineer thinks that because he was only locked on to Spock and not Hela, we ended up getting just her wings," Jim explained.

Scotty leaned over and added, "Most likely because they're so light."

"You can fix it, right?" Maila asked.

"Well, right now our transporter is out of commission. Whatever happened messed up _something_. So, until we figure out what happened and have transporter capabilities back, we're just going to have to wait," Jim concluded. "But don't worry. We've got geniuses up here. We'll figure something out," he added.

"I am so sorry Hela jumped in and caused this problem," Maila apologized, sounding at least a little bit consoled.

"It's okay," Jim said, grinning. "We've had worse things happen. The concept of normal is not in abundance on this ship, so we're used to things going awry."

"You can say that again," Scotty mumbled from his station.

"Thank you for being so understanding and please keep me updated on the situation," Maila said. "And please take care of those wings."

"No problem. We will. And I'll be sure to keep you updated," he promised, closing the connection. He spun around in the chair, only to find Chekov standing behind him and Spock standing in the doorway, wings splayed in the air.

"Captain, the most logical course of action would to beam back down to _Ultaris_, then repeat the previous events, only inverted," Spock informed him, looking resolute.

"Have you touch Hela and only lock on her and not you?" Jim clarified, mostly for the benefit of Scotty, who looked a little confused.

"Correct," Spock said with a nod.

"Yeh'd probably have to stage it just like before. The transfer was probably a mere anomaly," Scotty countered.

"Well, we can do it as many times as needed," Jim said with a shrug. "Besides, this is _Spock_ we're talking about. He's like perfectionist to the max. He'll probably recreate it perfectly." Spock raised an eyebrow.

"True," Scotty muttered, rolling his eyes and going back to the screen. "Well, ah'm gonna try an' get this thing back online. It'll probably be a good while - the signal is scrambled and topsy-turvy."

"So now all there is to do is wait for this thing to get repaired and enjoy the hilarity of a winged Spock," Jim said with a broad smile. Spock raised an eyebrow at this too.

"I fail to see how this situation harbors any humor," Spock stated solemnly.

"Well, I think it harbors _plenty _of humor," Jim said with a grin. "And it also proves my theory."

"Vhat theory?" Chekov asked curiously.

"That only the most ludicrous things happen to Spock." Jim sat back against the chair, looking proud of himself.

"This is hardly-"

"Zis eez true! Meester Spock eez always having bad zings heppen to him," Chekov nodded in agreement.

"We should probably go take you to Bones - with your bad luck, these wings might be slowly killing you or something," Jim chuckled, standing up.

"Bad luck?" Spock asked blankly. "Unless I am mistaken, it is the _Enterprise_ and _all_ of her crew that befall this 'bad luck' you speak of."

"You _are_ mistaken; it's just you," Jim teased, pulling at the winged-Vulcan's sleeve. Spock stiffened at the contact, but followed the captain into the hallway, leaving Scotty and Chekov to their genius-work.

"How is my plight entertaining?" Spock asked, sounding truly curious. They were creating a path through the semi-busy hallway, what with Spock's new appendages and the shock that seemed omnipresent with them.

"Because, Spock, we humans have a word that accurately describes you. Perhaps you're familiar with it," he replied, glancing back at the nearly seraphic-looking Spock. "Stoic."

"I am familiar with that word and its definition."

"Then you'll understand why I say that you're too stoic for a ship that is constantly getting caught in time warps and alien invasions, the works," Jim went on as they neared the sick bay. "When these kinds of things happen to you - emotional tantrums, lulled by dangerously attractive women, sprouting wings, et cetera - that cause you to break away from your 'I am a Vulcan and must pretend to be boring' persona, you're actually _fun_, Spock."

"You prefer when I am not in complete control of my demeanor?" Spock asked, still sounding curious.

"Well, yeah, but not when you're strangling me against an electrically-active work panel," Jim laughed, dragging the winged-Vulcan into the sickbay, hardly waiting for Bones to see Spock's new angelic appearance.

"Am I hallucinating? Has Spock been hiding something all this time?" Bones asked, mouth agape. He put down the datapad he'd been studying and approached Spock with furrowed brows. "Don't tell me you want me to fix you. Because if that's what you want, then let me tell you…I have no idea how to."

"No, Bones, I would _never_ put you through that kind of hell," Jim assured him.

"Never, my ass. You're _always_ putting me through _some_ kind of hell," Bones muttered. He immediately went to poking and prodding Spock's wings, earning flinches and involuntary movements from the poor Vulcan.

"It appears the nerve endings in the wings are also connected to my mind," Spock commented, after another jarring movement that almost sent him falling into Jim if the captain hadn't steadied him. "These movements are purely reflex."

"So it would seem," Bones said, pulling Spock's left wing out until it was fully spread. "These little things are pretty strong, though. Given Vulcan physiology and the lightness of your bones, you might actually be able to fly with these things."

"I have no desire to fly, Doctor," he replied dryly, as if it were insane to think a boring Vulcan would voluntarily want to be airborne.

Bones gave his wings another prod and Spock actually _did_ jerk into Jim, who caught him bodily against his chest. "Bones, stop agitating his wings - I was ordered to keep them safe until we figure out how to return them to their proper owner," Jim scolded the doctor, not letting go of Spock right away, trying to get across the idea of protectiveness.

Maybe he was getting a little more across than he wanted.

With the heightened temperature of Spock and the incredible softness of Spock's wings against his face and neck, it felt like his stomach was about to spontaneously combust into fiery flames. And Spock's face was inches from his…

He righted Spock and put another foot of distance between them, looking pointedly at Bones, knowing that Spock's dark eyes were on him.

"Yeah, well, it's hard to keep anything safe around _you_," Bones snorted, going back to his datapad.

"He's not going to die, is he?" Jim asked offhandedly.

"Not yet," the doctor replied over his shoulder.

"That's surprising news."

"Don't go parading him around the ship - people will start touching his wings and for all we know, it may be harmful, considering they're connected to his mind," Bones warned, just before he disappeared around the corner.

"He was pretty cool about that. He usually blames me for everything," Jim shrugged. He looked back over at Spock and noticed he had a particularly troubled look on his face, for Spock. "You okay?"

"There is a sharp pain in my head," he admitted.

"Must've been all that stabbing Bones did to your wings," Jim sighed, pulling at Spock's sleeve again. "Maybe you should just stay somewhere devoid of people and especially _doctors _until we fix the transporter." He stopped outside the sickbay, hesitating. "Your quarters?"

"That would be…preferable," he said after a moment. "I would also prefer to go alone."

"I wasn't planning on stalking you all the way there. I'm going to check on the transporter," Jim chuckled. "Wings making you paranoid?"

"Perhaps," Spock said quietly, drawing his wings closer to his back. "It is sometimes overwhelming being a touch-telepath, but these wings are much like a telepathic-radar on my back. The abilities they possess are somewhat even more overwhelming."

"It's cool," Jim sighed, resisting the urge to clap him on the shoulder. "Maybe it would've been better if the whole wing thing had happened to me." He paused for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. "Probably would've suited me, anyway. I've been told I look like a Greek god, so wings would only be fitting."

Spock just raised an eyebrow.

"You know, I think that eyebrow is merely a way to stop yourself from rolling your eyes," Jim teased.

The eyebrow flew up higher.

"I'm right and you know it." With that, Jim left the doorway of the sickbay and left Spock and his eyebrow to their little telepathic party.

When he got back to the transporter room, he was not surprised to find consoles taken apart and Scotty lying on his back, fiddling with something under the console. Chekov was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to him, muttering something about "internal engage sensors" and handing Scotty a tool that looked like the distant cousin of a wrench. _Very _distant.

Chekov glanced up at Jim and smiled. "Ve are almost done, Keptain," he assured him with a wink.

That kid was seriously too adorable.

Why did that word keep appearing in his mental vocabulary?

"Good," Jim smiled, settling in a chair that wasn't in front of a dismantled and gutted console. "What's the timeframe? I'd like to call Maila with some good news."

"Uhh…about two or three hours. Maybe," Scotty said from under the console, voice strained by his movements, which were apparently very strenuous. "We've figured out what the problem is, but fixin' it is the issue."

"Okay. I'll bite," Jim sighed. "What's the problem?"

Jim wished he hadn't asked. For the next twenty minutes, he got a very unwelcome and unnecessary lesson on the finery mechanics of transporter pads and their complicated signals. He also got a headache by the end of it. The lesson probably would've extended to an hour if he decided it was a very good time to make a call to Maila. Not in the transporter room, either. His quarters sounded like a good idea, considering they were closer. So he kindly - as possible - bid farewell to Scotty and Chekov, and made his way to his quarters for some swiped headache medicine from Bones and a hopefully reassuring call to Maila.

"About two or three hours and we should have the transporter back online," he assured a concerned looking Maila. Her beautiful features looked bright and colorful with worry, if that were possible. "Once again, I'm sorry it's taking so long - we've never had something like this happen before."

"And once again, I apologize for Hela's actions. She's still young and does not understand technologies outside our own," she apologized once more.

"It's fine," Jim said, waving a hand at the screen. "Is Hela okay?"

"She's fine, but you must understand that it is quite disturbing in our race for anyone to be without wings. It would be like someone of your species being without legs," Maila explained. "So, there is trauma that accompanies the situation. If anything, it should teach Hela a valuable lesson."

Jim nodded, understanding how freaky it must be and especially for someone so young. "I hope you don't mind me asking…but do you ever have people born without wings? When we spoke earlier, you used a term, _bare-backed_; is it common enough that you have a name for it?"

"If an Ultarian is born bare-backed, they will die within minutes of birth. Our wings have vital connections with our minds. They are, in the beginning, an extension of our minds. Later on, our minds develop enough that, if necessary, we could work without our wings if they are injured or are in the middle of a growth spurt," she explained. "Hela will be fine - she is old enough. But if she goes too long without her wings, she will die."

"How long?" Jim asked, alarmed.

"Well, if she had to go for possibly two weeks without her wings, then she would probably die. She is still growing and her wings are vital to her development. If they are returned to her within hours, as you said, then there should be no repercussions," Maila reassured him.

Jim sighed in relief. "Good." Then he remembered something important he had been meaning to ask. "Can I ask one more question?"

"Of course."

"Well, you see, Commander Spock, the one who now carries your daughter's wings…he is a Vulcan. I don't know if you know anything of their species, but Vulcans are touch-telepaths, capable of the same things your wings appear to be capable of. All the stimulation, between his own abilities and the wings, seem to be overwhelming him and he's got a real bad headache. Got any advice to keep him sane until we get our transporter fixed?" he asked, feeling weird talking about Spock like he was a different species. When did he stop thinking of Spock as a different species and just being…well, _different_?

"There is a connection between the wings and his mind?" she asked, large, colorful eyes getting unbelievably bigger.

"Yeah, isn't that how it is for Ultarians?" Jim asked, a little baffled as to why this would shock her.

"I wasn't aware that the connection was transferred as well…" she supplied, eyes narrowing in thought, but still managing to be the size of teacup saucers.

"That is kinda of weird," Jim said, scratching his head. "I hadn't thought about that…"

"Well, if that's the case, I know of some things that will help your commander out," Maila went on, dismissing it. She then proceeded to give him a lengthy and specific lesson on how to get rid of Spock's headache. And as the explanation went on and went _on_, he began to realize that maybe Spock wouldn't want _this_ kind of help. But he was James T. Kirk, goddammit, and he wasn't going to back out of something, no matter how personal it was going to become.

When she finished, he thanked her for the lesson, reassured her that the transporter would be repaired soon, and ended the transmission. With a sigh, he rose, trying to mentally prepare himself for what he was going to attempt to do. It wasn't like _he_ minded what he would have to do; he liked Spock and found that he truly didn't want the poor Vulcan to be in unnecessary pain. He knew how horridly headaches could play with your mind. So it wasn't an issue with him.

It was more an issue of whether Spock would approve.

He knew the guy was not the touchy-feely type…but if this headache was bad enough, wouldn't he just be more like, "Oh, to _hell_ with it!"?

Well, maybe minus the curse word. Actually, he would probably just say something fancy like, "I have lost all previous inhibitions due to the persistent discomfort this pain is causing."

He left his quarters and made his way to Spock's as his mind reeled, more apprehensive than he would've liked. There were numerous times on the short trip that he almost turned back. His logical side of his mind thought that Spock would only have to endure it for a few more hours, and if it's _that_ bad, then he could just go to sickbay and Bones could drug him up. But the other side, the less logical and more insane side, thought that this was a good method in which to become better friends with Spock and maybe crack his pristine wall of formality.

He _loved_ doing that.

So, his insane side won and he found himself standing outside Spock's door, hitting the call button. Usually, when he went to Spock's quarters, it didn't take too long for him to answer the door; he was so fast and prompt. But this time, he stood there for a full minute before the door slid open and Spock stood there, looking incredibly in pain, despite his mask of indifference.

He actually looked like he had been laying down, which didn't surprise Jim. His hair wasn't as impeccable as usual and his eyes were slightly squinted as though he had just woken up.

"I apologize - I appear to be light-headed," Spock said in a low voice.

"Getting worse?" Jim asked, sounding sympathetic.

Spock just nodded. He swayed a bit - which was weird for Spock - and he gripped the edge of the door.

"Can I come in?" Jim went on, surprised to find that he was really hoping Spock would let him in.

"Of course," Spock replied, moving aside to allow him entry.

Jim had been in his room a few times, so he expected the extreme dryness and extreme heat, although it still left him momentarily breathless. Spock moved slowly to adjust the temperatures but Jim said, "If the heat helps your pain, you don't have to change the temperature."

Spock paused by the computer console and then glanced back at him. "Are you sure you do not mind?"

"It's fine." Jim shifted a little where he stood. Might as well cut to the chase. "So, I spoke with Maila and I told her about the whole telepathic overload deal. And I told her that you had a killer headache, so she gave me a pretty lengthy lesson on how to…um, get rid of your headache," he explained with uncertainty.

Spock's eyebrow rose half-heartedly. "What did she suggest?"

"Well, um…I don't know if you'd be too willing to try it…" Jim stuttered a bit, shifting more where he stood.

"Unless it involves ripping these wings off my back, I am open to any method," Spock said, voice a little rougher than usual. He had taken a seat in the chair by his desk, and his eyes were squinted in something Jim recognized immediately: pain.

"Well…a wing…_massage_," Jim said, giving a painful smile. "She showed me exactly how to do it without it making the headache worse. It's…_weird_ as hell, but I think it might work."

He put a little more work into make that eyebrow really fly up. "A wing massage?"

"Uh huh," Jim said, crossing his arms.

Spock seemed to deliberate this for a few seconds, then gave something like a sigh. "Very well. We shall try this 'wing message'."

Jim nodded and approached where he was sitting. "Bed," he ordered, pointing at the piece of furniture in question.

Somehow, someway, the eyebrow rose higher. "Why?" he asked, not suspicious, so to speak, but just a bit baffled.

"I've given many massages in my lifetime and if there's anything I know about them, it's that they're _not_ given in desk chairs when there's a perfectly vacant bed available," Jim replied, as though it were obvious. As Spock continued to give him a questioning look that was slowly morphing into suspicion, he sighed. "Oh, just get on the bed. I'm not going to jump you are anything!" he huffed.

Spock pulled himself up off the chair and sat obediently on the bed, looking a bit defeated. As though he simply didn't have the will to argue his baffling captain's ways anymore.

"Haven't you ever had a massage before?" Jim asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "You like, lay _down_ and stuff."

As Spock shifted to where he was lay on his stomach, which _somehow_ made him look absolutely gorgeous, Jim dragged over the desk chair and-

Wait, _what_?

Rewind.

_As Spock shifted to where he was lay on his stomach, which _somehow_ made him look absolutely gorgeous, Jim dragged over the desk chair and-_

Really? Did he _really_ just think that?

Maybe Spock really _did_ need to worry about Jim jumping him - he couldn't believe he had just actually thought that about his first officer. First the adorable thing and now-

"Jim?" Spock asked, glancing up at him through dark, tired eyes.

He tried very hard to shake his thoughts away as he realized he had stopped in the middle of taking his chair to the side of Spock's bed. He tried to ignore how stunning Spock looked, gazing up at him from that bed - _shut up_! - and tried to think of something more trivial.

"You've finally broken down and started calling me Jim?" he asked, also surprised that Spock had actually done it.

"Obviously," Spock said softly, his eyes falling shut as Jim settled next to the bed. It was weird, Spock being so open with him, but it was probably only because of what had to be a _roaring_ headache. "I have noticed you seem to prefer it."

"Well, it's about time you came to your senses," Jim teased, carefully and tentatively pulling Spock's right wing so that it was completely spread. When he glanced down to see if he was hurting the Vulcan, he saw his lips twitch slightly. He wondered if it was because of his lame joke or if it was actually hurting him. "Let me know if I hurt you," he added quietly.

Spock didn't reply; his eyes were still closed and the usually tense muscles in his shoulders seemed to melt away and Jim got to admire the impressive curves of his shoulder blades, albeit there were two feathery wings obscuring them. But that was the amazing part - it was like Spock was _built_ to have wings. They just seemed to complete the soft and hard lines of his body, complimenting that exotic and very alien appearance of him.

Okay, honestly, he was breathtaking. Even without the wings.

But _god_, the wings helped.

He started stroking along the curved bone at the top of the wings, only applying a small amount of pressure, just like Maila had instructed. He noticed that as he did this, Spock seemed to be melting into the bed, his lips parting slightly. Jim took this as a good sign and continued on with the entire exercise Maila had described.

For a while, Jim honestly thought that Spock had fallen asleep. His breathing was slow and even, his limbs were loose and relaxed, no tense muscles, and his eyelids fluttered every once and a while, as though he were in REM sleep or something. But then, as he finished messaging the second layer of feathers, his fingertips skimming along the rough skin between the shafts, Spock let out a sigh - a _real_ one - and glanced up at him.

It took Jim a few seconds to notice he was being watched; he was pretty focused on making sure he didn't bend a single feather in the wrong direction. When he did notice, he met those dark eyes for a moment, then couldn't help but smile. "You look a little less in pain," he commented, forcing himself to look back at the wings, rather than Spock's dark eyes.

"The left side of my head is," Spock said quietly, almost inaudible.

"Wings must be plugged in the same way as your eyes," Jim mused, finding it interesting, considering he was working on the right wing.

"Evidently," he breathed. Then his eyes closed again and by the time Jim was just finishing on the third and final layer of feathers, Spock seemed to fall asleep again. Jim knew for sure when he stopped, walked around the bed, climbed on the other side and sat next to him cross-legged, working on the other wing and Spock didn't even stir.

Although Jim's hands were starting to get stiff, there was something to be said about the comfortable silence that settled in the room. When he thought about the differences between Humans and other species, one thing he always noticed was that Humans felt the need to fill every little silence with words, constantly sucking up air with useless and trivial chatter. Though Jim was guilty of it as well, he always liked sitting in silence with people, although the only Human he could think of that would oblige was Bones.

But with Spock, it happened often. Whenever they ate meals together - which they did quite often - they could carry on a conversation just as well as they could sit quietly and just bask in silence quite contentedly. With Spock, things were more complicated, but when it came down to the most mundane things, he was the easiest to be around. He could speak in circles around Jim, probably in numerous languages, but he was sometimes a better friend than Jim expected him to be.

He snapped out of his reverie when Spock shifted slightly and moved his head to the other side so he could glance up at Jim, who was about to move on to the second layer of wings. It just proved even further that Spock was just too perfect for words: he didn't even have marks on the side of his face where his cheek had been pressed to the bed.

How was that even possible?

Jim shook his head and smiled, stopping for a moment and flexing his fingers, only to continue again.

"You may stop if you need to," a quiet voice said from below him. Jim's eyes flickered down to dark ones and he shook his head.

"I'm fine," he replied. "I'm almost done anyway."

"Although this is helping, I do not think this will completely eradicate the pain," Spock advised, shifting his right, already massaged wing.

"God, you're all loopy with a headache and you still manage to talk like a damn computer?" Jim sighed, dropping down to the third level of feathers. "There's still one more 'stage' to this massage and it will 'eradicate' your pain, Spock."

Spock just raised a lazy eyebrow and let his eyes fall closed again.

When Jim finally finished with the third layer, he took a short break, bending his fingers and cracking his knuckles, trying to not look down at Spock. But there wasn't much else to look at, given the neatness of his quarters and the fact that the room was pretty dark, except for the dim light coming from the bathroom. Eventually, curiosity prevailed and he stole a glance downward, only to find that Spock's eyes were closed again, hand curled loosely in front of his face.

He knew he shouldn't have looked down.

What was it about the fact that Spock had wings that was making him so hyperaware of how attractive Spock really was? It wasn't like he looked around, rating all his guy friends, but it was always understood with him that he had a handful of good-looking friends. Sulu, Chekov - although he was still a teenager - Bones, even Scotty wasn't that bad looking. He also knew that Spock was good-looking, but in a darker, more exotic way. And now, for some bizarre reason, it was strikingly obvious to him just _how_ attractive he was.

Shut up, Jim.

When Spock's eyes started open again, he looked away.

He instead shifted so he was sort of halfway squatting on the bed, giving him pretty decent access to the last part that needed to be massaged - the base of his wings. The weird part, though, was that there were slits in his shirt where his wings protruded from his back.

"Hey, Spock?" Jim asked.

"Yes?"

"You realize you can never wear this shirt again, right?" Jim said, pulling off the fabric, his fingertips just barely sliding past incredibly hot skin.

"Yes," Spock sighed.

"Souvenir, eh?" Jim smirked down at him.

Spock's lip twitched slightly. Jim chuckled under his breath and let his fingers skim over curved bone, down to the base of his wings…and that's when things got interesting.

The Vulcan's body gave a small shudder as his fingers slid down the joint, surprising Jim into backing away. "Are you okay?" Jim asked urgently, looking at Spock in concern.

"Yes."

"Okay," he said, shrugging and going back to the base of the wings. The next shudder wasn't quite as violent, but was a lot more informative - this wasn't hurting him. It probably felt like heaven to him. Maila had said that the base of the wings were the most sensitive, but he hadn't really expected that to apply to Spock.

Wrong.

He continued, finding that he _liked_ the fact he was…god. He was about to think _pleasuring him_. He bit his lip, trying to shove away those thoughts. But _god_ it was a bloody hard thing to do when Spock was white-knuckling a fistful of sheets, brows furrowed, body literally _shivering_ in what appeared to be ecstasy.

So, Jim won the medal for best massage ever, apparently.

If things got interesting when he started this phase of the massage, then what happened next must have been _fascinating_, if one went strictly by the Spock-scale.

He was massaging the joints of each wing, working slowly down to the juncture with his shoulder blades, when his fingers met a weird ridge on both joints, apparently just another part of the wing's anatomy. It was this bit of anatomy that apparently "hit the spot".

Jim had never heard Spock moan. Probably because the Vulcan never had a reason to moan. But he did now. And _god_, if it wasn't the most delicious sound Jim had ever heard.

_Shut up_, Jim!

Surely Spock was aware that his controlled demeanor was slipping. That was probably just a little mishap, a surprise reaction to the convenient anatomy of Ultarian wings. It wouldn't happen again-

Spock moaned a little bit louder.

Jim was tempted to stop, allow Spock to get a grip on himself again because _surely_ the stone-faced Vulcan doesn't want to be anything but stone-faced. But Jim was only tempted. He didn't stop. He kept going. What a masochist he was.

It wasn't until Spock started arching his back - involuntarily, it seemed - did Jim finally come to terms that just watching Spock nearly come undone from a wing massage was adding an extra bone in his body. And he really didn't have time to be disgusted with himself because he was a little too caught up with the sensation of skin mixed with feathers as his fingers massaged the point in which the wings branched out of his back. Hot and soft; it was the perfect mixture and he was suddenly becoming a little more aware of the fact that it was _so fucking hot_ in that room.

Really, he didn't like the heat. It wasn't helping him or the situation, but it couldn't be helped. It was like his hands now had a mind of their own and Spock was arching helplessly into them. Jim didn't know if this either felt good or was like bordering something close to foreplay…he was a little confused. Eventually, though, he had to stop. The massage was supposed to relax him and the base of Spock's wings were obviously a little more sensitive than he had anticipated, so he finally withdrew his hands, wondering if maybe Spock had been asleep for the last part of the massage and that was why he kinda went crazy. Those sleep-moaning or something.

But when he sat back and moved away, Spock's eyes fluttered open and he looked a little crazed.

Jim was really not prepared for how "crazed" the massage had made him. And just when Jim was starting to _seriously_ worry that he was going to jump Spock like he had promised he wouldn't…

Well, Spock jumped him.

Somehow, from the position he was lying in, he still managed to gain some leverage and tackle Jim to the bed. He suspected it had something to do with the wings and Vulcan's light-weight bones or something, but he also suspected he was losing his mind, so he stopped thinking and tried to get his bearings what with all the heat and softness overwhelming him.

Spock had pinned him against the bed, so very obviously stronger than him, and basically melded their mouths together. And that wasn't particularly a bad thing, per se, but he was sort of getting the vibe that Spock was quite out-of-it. Just as he thought that, Spock's knee happened to shift upwards…

And away went Jim's thought process.

It only came back to him when the Comm by the door blared on and Scotty's heavy accent could be heard. He didn't even catch what the chief engineer said; he was too enraptured by Spock and the fact that the Vulcan was shirtless and gorgeous, winged and staring down at him with a look that wasn't exactly crazed anymore.

"Uhhh…" was all Jim could manage with all his elegance. A wide-eyed Vulcan stared by at him, looking more curious than appalled with what he had done.

"Jim…" Spock started to say, finally following Jim's orders to call him by his first name. Suddenly, he released Jim and stood in one fluid movement. "I apologize. I am not sure what just occurred."

Jim stood up as well, only not quite as gracefully. "Um, me neither."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Spock's cheeks were a light shade of green as the quietness dragged on until Jim spoke.

"But I'm glad it happened."

Spock stared at him incredulously. "Glad?"

"Yeah. Why not?" he asked, shrugging and feeling slightly embarrassed.

The Comm came on again and Scotty's voice rang out. "Captain, we need you down here to do this." He sounded very annoyed.

For a moment, Jim wondered how in the world they knew that he was in Spock's room, but then he stupidly remembered that they could locate him anywhere on the ship. What were they thinking…?

Jim stumbled to the Comm and said, "Be there in five minutes."

Jim turned around, his eyes falling back on Spock, who was somehow managing to get his shirt back on, despite his wings. Once the article of clothing was replaced, the white wings stretched out above his head and considering the serene expression on the Vulcan's face, it looked something akin to what birds would do.

Spock looked truly beautiful.

Jim, like the idiot he was, ended up voicing it without meaning to.

"You look gorgeous, Spock," he said, his voice slightly husky, which was slightly embarrassing, but he couldn't really care right now. Without thinking, he strode forward and pulled the Vulcan back to him, pressing his mouth to Spock's hot one once more. His hands slid up the Vulcan's back, caressing the base of his wings.

If Jim never knew what cause and effect was, this was a prime example and now he knew. Instantly, Jim had the upper hand as Spock turned to warm, winged mush. The Vulcan was not only completely relaxed, but incredibly responsive. It was as if the base of the wings were an 'on' switch. Spock's arms went around the captain, practically clinging to him.

Jim dragged the Vulcan desperately closer, mouth moving to his neck, hands now wandering everywhere. He was eliciting moans he wasn't sure if belonged to Spock, him, or the both of them. His mind was on fire, his body almost moving on its own accord. All he could think was how long he had been wanting this, whether he was aware of it or not. Everything was just warm and tugging and soft and Spock and feathers and hot and Spock and tugging…

Wait, tugging?

Just as he noticed the tugging, there was a sharp snap in his head and Spock removed himself from Jim's vicinity, leaving him stranded alone in the middle of the room. Spock was breathless, wide-eyed, and looking a little disheveled when Jim opened his eyes and stared at him.

Before he could even ask what happened, Spock started speaking. "I apologize, Jim. I did not mean to lose control like that."

"Whether you meant it or not, I love it," Jim said with a grin, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his head.

"I did not mean physically," Spock said, shaking his head just slightly. "Telepathically."

It took a moment, but it suddenly clicked. "_You_ were that tugging feeling I got?" Jim asked curiously.

"I was accidentally forming a meld with you. The wings are enhancing my telepathy. It is no longer limited to just touch. Since I have acquired these wings, I have been able to read the thoughts of everyone within a ten foot radius of me. That is the real reason for my headache," Spock explained, looking almost…guilty?

Jim blanched. Spock had been reading his mind…no, _is_ reading his mind. Since the transporter pad. He's been aware of every perverse thought he's had about Spock. Jim didn't know whether to laugh hysterically or go crawl in a hole.

"I would prefer you do neither. I did not intend to tell you. It was an attempt to simply avoid embarrassing you. I must admit, however, you have caused me no trouble with these thoughts." Spock put his hands behind his back, the way he always did, but his eyes looked different. Brighter, maybe?

"Wait, what…?" Jim stared at him, mouth open like an idiot.

"I have not been adverse to your thoughts. I have found them enjoyable," Spock spelled out very clearly.

Jim gawked even more and Spock watched him with what looked like humor. A moment seemed to pass and the more Jim stared at Spock, the more hot and flustered he got. The Vulcan just looked so damn…_sexy_ like that, eyebrow quirked, eyes dark but bright, wings arching over his shoulders. He was about to-

"Captain, we _really_ need ta' get this show on the road." The Comm was suddenly alive with Scotty's aggravated voice. "Hela is scared outta her mind and Maila is too."

Jim shook himself out of his stupor and somehow made it the Comm without tripping over his own feet. "On our way," he croaked out, his throat constricted from both heat and desire.

"We will continue the conversation later, Captain," Spock said, turning back into Commander Spock. With wings. He motioned for Jim to leave, the brightness still in his eyes.

Jim couldn't stop the grin from surfacing on his face. "You got it."

It only took one try to make the successful transfer of the wings. That wasn't very surprising though, considering it was Spock he made the final calibrations. Jim and Bones had beamed down ahead of time, just to make sure the transfer went as planned. Although seeing Spock sans wings was sort of sad, the look on Hela's face made it all worth it. She looked like someone had just found her lost puppy. She fluttered around, giggling, hugging Spock, giggling, fluttering around, hugging Spock, giggling, hugging Spock…

"Thank you so much, Captain Kirk," Maila said, giving him yet another of her pure white feathers, this time in gratitude. "We are in your debt."

Jim accepted the feather but waved his hands. "No, no, you're not any debt at all. You helped Spock with the whole headache thing, so we're even."

Maila smiled, revealing bright blue fangs. "So the massage worked?"

"Like magic. I have to say, though, the base of your wings seem to be _really_ sensitive," Jim said, grinning, mind floating back to what had transpired earlier.

Maila gave him an odd look. "You mean you massaged the base of his wings?"

Now Jim was sharing that look. "Was I not supposed to?"

"I told you _don't_ massage the base of the wings," Maila said, laughing for some reason. It was high and clear and could be mistaken for a war cry if Jim hadn't already known what it was a laugh.

"Oh, I heard 'massage the base of the wings'. Why was I not supposed to?"

"Captain, that is how we arouse one another," she said, still laughing her war-cry shrieks. Jim gawked down at his Universal Translator, wondering if there had been some sort of mistake.

"There is no mistake, Captain," Maila said, confirming his suspicions from the very beginning of the entire trip that they could read minds. "You engaged in the pre-stages of sexual activity with your first officer."

Basically, that _was_ foreplay, you idiot, he thought.

Maila nodded. "At least you found incentive to start something, finally. Good luck, Captain."

Jim stared at her, eyebrows raised. She knew. She winked, something she had learned from him earlier, during one of the meetings, and fluttered away to be with Hela, who was finally winding down.

Still slightly stunned by the culmination of the day's events, he gathered with Spock and Bones, waving his farewells to the Ultarians and their wind-swept, beautiful planet. Even as he rematerialized with the others on the transporter pad, his mind was still reeling. It was 2200 hours, ship time. His shift was _way_ over. Although he knew he should be tired, he simply wasn't. Not when Spock was on his mind. It seemed as though the moment they got back, Bones had whisked Spock away to sick bay for an exam.

Spock appeared to still have access to a Padd, however, and within ten minutes of sitting bored in his quarters, Jim got an email.

_I will arrive at your quarters in fifteen minutes to continue our conversation. Would that be acceptable?_

Jim grinned. _More than acceptable._

* * *

><p><em>End<em>

Wanna know something horribly sad? I started this on July 10, 2009. It took me almost two years to finish it. Although, it was a side-project to begin with, a super long one-shot, if you will. Either way, now this file can stop glaring at me from the "incomplete" file.

As always, thanks to Toby. She's always encouraging my fangirling side more than anyone else on the planet. Some more thanks to Spock, my laptop, for being so tolerant with my attention span. But most of all, thank _YOU_. I have been through three pennames and numerous fandoms. I have no comprehension of timely updates. I've shipped so many different pairings, I'm surprised anyone puts up with me anymore. But despite all that, I get enough views to make me happy and humble. So, drop me a review, if you'd like. If not, thanks for reading.


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